


Beyond that mountain, back to her home

by Etanseline



Category: Hakuouki
Genre: F/M, Misses Clause Challenge, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 16:05:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/599628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etanseline/pseuds/Etanseline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Edo is now Tokyo, but Chizuru's house looks the same as it always has.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beyond that mountain, back to her home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spicy_diamond](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spicy_diamond/gifts).



Edo has become Tokyo by the time Chizuru returns to the city, and with the young emperor in residence the streets are filled to the brim with new people and talk of reform. In the middle of it all, Kodo’s house looks much like it always has: more worn-down than the last time Chizuru visited, the dust a few inches thicker, but underneath signs of abandonment the interior is intact.

The return is harder than Chizuru expected, somehow. She’d done all of her grieving for the Shinsengumi at Hakodate; Goryokaku had been as good as a gravestone, and though their bodies were scattered all the way from Kyoto to Ezo, she’d found all of them there in spirit to bid farewell. Tokyo, however, is very much alive and changing from moment to moment; and underneath lurks Edo, in her father’s old notes and familiar streets.

There are memories in every room of the house. With nothing else to do, Chizuru’s mind walks among them, touches them briefly to remove the dust and air out the old futons and mats, and moves on before the associations run too deep. Her father at the table, making notes even at breakfast. Waking in her childhood bed to a new day. Crowds of people wander by in daylight, more and more often in western-style clothes. The occasional hushed sound of a late-night walker wakes her, breathless; she reminds herself that there is no one in the other bedroom to check on, no reason to leave her futon.

Chizuru cleans the house aggressively from entrance to the furthest private room, runs errands at shops on the farthest side of the city, and when night falls she has never been so grateful for exhaustion. With morning, however, comes the question of what to do next.

*

Sen and Kimigiku are the first to visit.

Sen had been a regular visitor to Ezo: she has an uncanny ability to find Chizuru wherever she is, thanks in part to a network of allies that stretches to every extreme of the country. More than anything, though, Sen’s presence is a comfort, cheering Chizuru up in unexpected ways.

Chizuru has had time to adjust since Hakodate. Years of wearing men’s clothes had made her feel small and strange through the first few weeks of returning to her girlhood robes: she felt as good as naked with her stocking toes peering from the bottom fold of a simple old robe, the first time, but the feeling has since passed. She greets Sen and Kimigiku in a simple dress, worn from use, spring green with a repeating pattern of flowers and a plain yellow sash that Chizuru has to twist to hide the worst of its frays.

Sen greets her warmly nonetheless, though her own clothes make Chizuru’s look little better than rags. “I’m glad to see that you arrived safely!”

As the sun sets, Chizuru looks around the house and thinks it comfortable for the first time since she left, years and years ago: there are signs of habitation, but they are recent, all of the old things put away in their proper places, Kodo’s research notes boxed and hidden out of sight. Sen fills the house with chatter while Chizuru cooks for three, and Kimigiku reads at her self-appointed spot at the front door.

After dinner, the atmosphere of the house is charged and anticipatory, at odds with their drowsy postures. "I’ve been thinking of you a great deal since we last met," Sen begins, her head drooping onto Kimigiku's shoulder. “What do you plan to do now? Will you live here?”

This is the stumbling block, the point where Chizuru’s thoughts scatter and she can’t seem to reach a decision. “I want to know more about the Yukimura family.” It’s a start, at least: whether it can be salvaged, and whether she wants to take on that responsibility, are topics too large to tackle after a big meal. “Beyond that, I’m not sure.”

Sen brightens. “You know I’ll tell you everything I can. Well, to start: have you considered reaching out to the rest of your family? What remains of it, at least.”

The suggestion startles Chizuru. “Is there anyone left?”

There are rumours that her brother lives, as it turns out, as well as members of the lesser Yukimura families: scattered, but alive. Chizuru sleeps poorly that night for wondering about them, connected by blood and name, even with the promise of Sen’s assistance.

*

Sen returns from her afternoon walk in a foul mood. "I'd rather not talk to him," she calls from the door, before Chizuru can ask who, "but if you don't want to see him, I'll relate your answer and send him on his way."

Few people affect Sen so negatively, and after a moment’s consideration Chizuru rushes to the door, nervous and giddy. Kazama looks much the same as always, unbothered by Sen’s open dislike: he takes in her old robe with an expression best described as flat, and his glance to Sen is uninterested at best.

“I see you’ve hired a doorkeeper,” Kazama comments, as though speaking of a common worker.

Sen ignores him. “As thrilled as we are that you’ve decided to grace us with your charming personality, I’m afraid we were just leaving. If you’ll excuse us—”

Kazama’s eyes remain on Chizuru. "We have an understanding," he says.

It makes everything worse, but Chizuru is helpless to stop smiling. Sen turns to her, confused, while Kazama’s eyes narrow. A year later, and here he is, still interested, though she would have never described him as patient.

"Is this true?" Sen asks, with an incredulous sideward glance at Kazama.

Without looking away from Chizuru, Kazama smirks. “I don’t recall addressing you.”

Chizuru is glad not to be on the receiving end of Sen’s glare.

“Of course it is,” Kazama says, just as Chizuru says, “Yes. I’ll explain, I promise.”

*

Kazama and Sen come and go in turns, circling one another with distaste when they both happen to be present. Chizuru exhausts herself on mediating their arguments and eventually leaves them to it. At first she worries that they might tear each other apart without her interference, painfully aware that they were poised to attack behind polite pretenses, but they reach an uneasy truce on their own.

Sen is a positive force, always willing to answer questions or accompany Chizuru on walks around Tokyo. When duty calls her away, Kazama appears on her doorstep without fail. He rarely stays long, and he asks after her well-being in a casual way, without any obvious interest. He tears things apart with his eyes – her small house, her clothes, and her company – but makes no comment.

Chizuru doesn’t know how to approach him, exactly. The sight of him takes her back a year, to the memory of his kiss, to his promise to come get her and to no longer be strangers, to the wild half-formed futures she imagines between them; but she feels strange, distant, and worst of all, she has no idea how to bridge the gap.

*

Kaoru hates her.

He shows up at the door one afternoon, found and sent along by Sen, and mercifully saves the brunt of his anger for the privacy of her home. The intensity of his hate is a shock, coming from a face she recognizes from Kyoto. When he promises that he once hated Chizuru more, she believes every word of it, knows that what he throws at her now is a simmer compared to the worst of his rage.

Chizuru weathers through it, until Kaoru seems to run out of words, mean or otherwise. She looks up to find Kazama in the door, and for all Kaoru threatens with words, Kazama promises tenfold in return with the deceitfully mild narrowing of his eyes. The worst of their conversation is over. Part of her is irritated with the interruption, and the rest is raw.

“I want to know more about our family,” Chizuru says, returning her gaze to Kaoru. “Do you—“

Kaoru interrupts. “No. It’s dead. Let it go.”

When Kaoru rises to leave, Chizuru calls after him. "Why did you agree to come? What changed?" A stupid question, and her face begins to burn for having asked. Everything has changed.

Kaoru's face – like looking into a mirror, only someone had shattered the glass – looks, in the absence of anger, like stone. "What do you mean, what changed? Everything changed. You lost everything, and you deserved it.” He pushes by Kazama with a bitter laugh.

Kaoru means the words to hurt, but they ring hollow, because Chizuru hasn’t lost everything: some things and people who were dear to her, but certainly not everything.

"I'll kill him," Kazama offers. There is something underneath, but his tone is mild.

"No," Chizuru says. The offer isn't surprising, but the words that come from her mouth are. "You won't."

"You'd let him speak to you that way? You would let him disrespect you?" Kazama barks out a laugh, the undertone surfacing. "He deserves to die like the worm he is."

"No," Chizuru repeats, frustration bubbling up from beneath her exhaustion. "Killing him wouldn’t solve anything." She wants Kazama to leave, or come closer, to do anything but stand there with his mouth in a set line, passing silent judgment. "He has as much of a claim to the Yukimura name as I do, and anyway, he’s not interested in interfering.”

Kazama turns to leave.

“Kazama.” He stops. “He’s my responsibility. Am I understood?"

Kazama leaves without giving an answer.

Chizuru picks herself from the floor with some difficulty, but once standing she feels resolved. Hollow, but she doesn’t regret being firm. He won’t return on his terms, or he’ll return on hers.

*

Kazama returns a few days later, as though Kaoru’s visit had never happened.

Chizuru pauses in the open doorway, mouth parted. "I thought," she starts, but really she was worried, against all common sense, that the hope she’d felt a year ago could be so easily undone. She isn’t sorry for setting boundaries, but she is pleased, and doesn’t hide her smile.

One corner of his mouth tips up. "You thought I'd stormed off," he offers.

Chizuru corrects him without thinking. “You did. You stormed off in a huff.” Several days of consideration have brought her to one conclusion: Kazama hates lying, and perhaps the fastest way to an understanding is to tell him the truth. "I thought you went to kill him anyway.”

This brings Kazama up short. When he laughs, low and rich, his smile is the same knife's-edge smile Chizuru is accustomed to, but his tone is gentle. "We are understood, if not agreed. Your family is your concern, so long as they do not act outside of their bounds. You're more than capable of dealing with an insignificant brat."

A memory of Kodo bubbles to the front of her mind, fever-bright and at odds with Kazama's easy tone: Kodo staring down at her without recognition, crumbling under Kazama's blade, turning to ash before her eyes. Kodo and his Furies. Chizuru blinks it away.

"Chikage," Kazama says.

Chizuru looks up, startled. "What?"

Kazama repeats himself, slowly, without looking away. "You continue to surprise me," he says, as Chizuru realizes what he's offered.

*

Something itches in her for weeks after Kaoru's visit. Chizuru catches herself looking sideways into mirrors, sneaking glances and expecting to see a different reflection. The brink of looking is a place she knows well, going back to the first days after realizing her heritage: she has often wondered what she would look like, if she gave in to the urge to know. She tries to twist her face into rage and fails. She closes her eyes to focus on the transformation and opens them, shoulders shaking from the effort, to the same face.

Chizuru finally achieves the transformation with Sen’s guidance.

The transformation is effortless once Chizuru knows how. She looks like herself, only drawn in a different palette, silver and honey gold. The horns are truly new, sharp to touch, and still her hands wander back to them, learning their shape, reveling in the knowledge that this was hidden in her all along.

"Oh, look at you, you lovely girl," Sen says, raking the hair gently back from Chizuru's horns with her nails, trying and failing to keep her enthusiasm subdued. She turns away, and her hands stay in Chizuru's hair, petting idly. "Kimigiku! Kimi, bring the blue one."

Sen takes Chizuru's face in her hands, and transforms in an instant: three horns, silver hair, and a flush of colour under her smiling cheeks, all of it reflected in the mirror. She looks, as always, the part of the regal princess.

Chizuru returns her smile.

The blue one, it turns out, is the most expensive kimono Chizuru has had the pleasure to lay eyes on: water-themed, all of its patterns stitched in silver and deep blue. Kimigiku helps her into the robe while Sen fusses, tugging and pulling, until every drape of fabric flatters her figure.

“You look magnificent,” Sen says, with open affection. “I knew you would from the moment I laid eyes on the colour. Consider this a homecoming gift, though I’m sure you’ll have a collection of your own in due time.”

“Thank you,” Chizuru says, at a loss. “Thank you so much.”

Sen tips her chin up. Her smile is sweet at first, though it soon wilts at the corners. “I know your exposure to our world hasn't necessarily been positive, but know that you can always count on Kimigiku and I, and all of those loyal to me. We are your friends and allies.”

The moment passes, and Sen turns to Kimigiku. “Could you bring the others?”

Chizuru flounders, at that. “Others?”

After Kimigiku ducks from the room, Sen leans her chin against the crown of Chizuru’s head. “Of course there are others. Your clothes are threadbare!” Though her voice is upbeat, her expression is troubled. “Chizuru. Answer me truthfully: are you sure this is what you want?”

“I’m sure,” Chizuru says. She isn’t, though; she has a hundred doubts, all of them well-founded. “I mean… I have to try.”

Sen purses her mouth and draws in her brow; the change is minimal, but she looks suddenly ferocious. “Then I respect your decision, though you know that if you ever change your mind, he knows better than to fight Kimi. You would be safe with us. As for him,” she says, tone leaving no doubt as to whom she refers, “while I think he’s starting to realize that you’re not one to be pushed around, mark my words: if he so much as looks at you askance, he’ll live to regret the day of his conception. There won't be an inch of a single domain that will hide him."

That said, her smile returns, sweet as ever, and Chizuru is glad to have her as an ally for more reasons than she can count.

*

Chizuru wakes in a cold sweat. She counts every imperfection in the ceiling, wanders her small room, and at last gives up on sleep altogether. At length she unfolds her western-style clothes from the journey to Ezo, stiff and barely used, gathers her belt and kodachi, and wanders into the streets.

Night hasn't always been kind. Perhaps she'll never stop looking over her shoulder, or peering into dark alleyways, expecting the silver hair and bloodlust of Furies. Perhaps night will always bring to mind late dinners with the rowdy Shinsengumi, just as it makes her think of her father: of tagging along on emergency calls, sleeping in the lobbies of strange houses while he healed the sick and injured. But in the wake of the bad memories are good ones, and she's glad to have them, glad to have lived through all of them, no matter how poor their endings.

When the moon has reached the height of its arc, Kazama greets her from the intersection of two streets, a good hour’s walk from her house. "I don't understand what goes through your mind sometimes, if anything." It's gratifying to see him disheveled, and to confirm that he must have come to check on her, if he knew she'd gone but not immediately. He takes in her clothes with narrowed eyes.

Chizuru walks on. Kazama falls into step.

“You’ve been following me,” Chizuru says, certain. “I thought you left Hakodate, but you didn’t.”

After a moment he sighs. “Do you think so highly of yourself, that you would assume I would neglect my duties to follow a mere girl around the countryside?”

“It’s not about thinking highly of myself,” Chizuru says, blood running hot, but from his smirk he likely intended for his comment to get a rise from her. She takes a deep breath. “And I don’t think you did; I know you did.”

“I may have visited on occasion,” Kazama admits. “But only when other business called me there.”

Kazama says nothing more, so Chizuru lets him alone.

He grows impatient after a few minutes of silence. "Is there a point to this?"

"I couldn’t sleep," Chizuru says.

“There are easier ways to cure that than walking the streets alone in the dead of night,” Kazama says, in an odd tone: on one hand an invitation, on the other touching and assessing boundaries without simply taking. Their relationship is shifting.

Chizuru ignores the invitation, for now. "I walked this way when I left Edo for the first time. I wanted..." So many things, some of them now in the past, others in the future. It seemed an appropriate trip to make, an important goodbye to say.

Kazama sighs. "You can't relive it."

"No," Chizuru agrees. She doesn't want to. This isn't the same journey.

“And yet you’re thinking about them anyway.” His frustrated tone surprises her, but after a moment she realizes: he’d been so certain of his victory at Goryokaku, standing alive while the Shinsengumi were— and now he faces the reality that she won’t forget, rendering his clean victory incomplete.

Someday the memories will become less immediate, but for now there are rumours that the emperor will take strong measures against the samurai class, upheavals in every part of society, and every change brings Chizuru back to her only frame of reference.

“I won’t forget,” Chizuru says, “and you’re not going to get anywhere, fighting ghosts.”

They make the rest of the return walk in silence.

*

Most of the candles have guttered and snuffed out, but all that waits for Chizuru on the other side of Kazama’s company is an empty house and another fitful night, so she talks. She asks questions. She confesses her concerns to the candles; Sen offered one perspective, but another couldn’t hurt.

"You worry too much," Kazama says, drawing her gaze away from the flame. His stare is always direct, but only sometimes is it smothering: Chizuru stares back, chest burning as though someone has lit a fire in her belly. It seems to amuse Kazama when she doesn't look away, and she ends up trapped and wanting in opposite directions.

But Kazama talks without further prompting. She learns the bare-bones story of her family as he understands its demise, the history of his own, the series of betrayals and purges that led to the present moment. Kazama talks with ease about triumph and tragedy alike, which would once have made him monstrous to her. Now it’s a comfort. The action has passed: it is important to remember, but sometimes easier to step away from the intensity of reliving, to look only at the bare details.

His voice trails off. Chizuru catches herself staring, waiting for him to continue; only he stares back.

“You remember Ezo,” Kazama says.

Chizuru bows her head, and ducks behind her sleeve to hide a sudden smile. “Yes.” Of course she remembers; he stayed away for more than a year, when she’d expected him to reappear within a week, impatient and forceful as ever.

“You know what I want.” The smirk on Kazama’s face bleeds into his voice, but there’s something else. “It only makes sense. Both our lines have emerged from this era intact, but damaged. A union of our names would only serve to benefit both families. We have everything to gain.”

Chizuru drops her sleeve and fights to keep a straight face. Kazama’s arguments do make sense. Chizuru understands his concerns. She understands thinking ahead, the need for detachment and reason, the logic behind rebuilding their damaged lineages. She knows how Sen’s stories overlap with Kazama’s, and the bigger picture at their intersection.

But the smaller picture, well; she’s not entirely sure yet.

"Our children will be even stronger," Kazama says, in the same quiet, flat voice as always, in sharp contrast to the heat in his eyes. This time, the words feel different: they fluster her, make it hard to think, or perhaps it's his stare, so different from all the times he said the same words and looked right through her.

Chizuru feels hot, from the fire in her belly to the crown of her head.

Kazama studies her in the low light. “Our sons and daughters will never be indebted to humans. If they fight, it will be on their own terms, and they will be more than capable.”

Chizuru spares him the old argument – that humans aren’t all bad – because on some level they agree. Their children will go where they want, and interact with the world however they choose. There is so much work to do, but Chizuru feels ready to face the challenge.

Here Kazama surprises her. “You know what I want. But on what terms will you have me?”

She sends him away, that night, though she knows the answer.

*

Sen left her the blue kimono, with its fine silver filigree, and Chizuru spends hours making it look perfect, wandering the house with silver hair tied with a simple ribbon. She practices speeches and expressions in front of the mirror. She practices transforming from demon to human and back until the change becomes effortless, until both reflected faces become hers.

Kazama rarely looks surprised. It lasts only for a moment, and his expression quickly becomes smug.

“You look… befitting of your status,” Kazama says carefully. He stands in the doorway for a long moment, with a glance around the entrance that suggests that her appearance is the only part of the scene he approves of. The demon emerges as he takes the first step into the house, hair turning white and horns jutting from his forehead, until they stand separated by a few steps.

Not equal – Chizuru knows that this, at least, is a war she will have to continue to fight, though she’s already winning it battle by battle – but offering and asking something mutual, and no longer strangers after all. She hopes, at least. She wants this. She wants to see where this path leads, and discover a part of herself that is slowly becoming more comfortable.

"Chikage." The name sparks on Chizuru’s tongue, odd and exciting to say out loud. She expects the rest of it to come tumbling out, all of the pretty practiced words, having crossed the first and hardest stumbling block. Instead she crosses the few steps that separate them.

Kazama’s mouth is softer than Chizuru remembers. He has to bend to meet her. Her thoughts remain on angling her nose and horns the right way, hands learning the slide from his collarbone to the back of his neck while she slides her tongue from the bottom of his mouth to the seam. Kazama’s arms move to circle her shoulders, drawing her closer.

It’s a start.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the Edo Lullaby: "Where did my boy's baby-sitter go? / Beyond that mountain, back to her home."


End file.
